Darkside - Part 5, 1994 (Winter & Spring)
© Gairid
stat1791@myway.com

Spoilers: Up to The Vampre Armand
Rating: NC-17
Status: Complete
Characters: Lestat, Louis, Armand
Other Characters:OC (Brian Callahan)
Summary: A look into the lives of Louis and Lestat told by a third-party observer. Brian Callahan is my window into their world.

NOTE: I am posting 1994 in two parts, as it is somewhat lengthy.

Winter, 1994

Lestat has a decided flair for grand gestures. The case in point was the occasion of my receiving my pilot's license; Lestat's response to the achievement was to go out and buy a Lear jet and present me with the 'keys', so to speak, along with the suggestion that we all fly down for a holiday in the Caribbean 'to get away from all this tiresome nonsense'.

New jet and time in the Caribbean with them? Sounded pretty good to me, so I set about arranging to have one of the accountants take care of the bills while we were gone, filing a flight plan and arranging for a place to stay.

I showed Lestat the villa I'd settled on and he approved the choice with an absent air. "We'll look around for a place to purchase when we get there. After all it would be rude to inadvertently demolish someone else's property, yes?" His laughter trailed him down the stairs.

~~~~~

The villa was even nicer than it had looked on the website. It was a beautiful Caribbean gingerbread on the beach at Plantain Bay, complete with terrific views, gardens, a pool and several small guest cottages, one of which I took as my residence.

It didn't take me too long to figure out that Lestat's reasons for leaving New Orleans had much less to do with his being fed up with his fellow immortals clamoring for news of him than it did with wanting to take Louis away from prying eyes and overweening curiosity. The private nature of this particular island made it a good destination.

Lestat's own account of how he felt after he'd taken the blood of the eldest of all of them gives some indication of how such a sudden intake of power and strength, given all at once, was overwhelming to say the least. When Louis drank at last from Lestat he did so in anticipation of sharing still another facet of his Beloved, but I would venture to say he wasn't quite prepared for the wallop that had very evidently taken place.

First there was the physical change; if he looked so startling to me, now very used to his appearance and some of the unsettling mannerisms he would unthinkingly display, then it was reasonable to assume that it might excite comment elsewhere. This is not to say that Louis cared a fig about what was said or thought about him. In fact, he did not appear to consider such things at all except in relation to how it might affect their night-to-night life in their chosen home. Lestat, however, was wholly aware that it would be a good idea to go to some private place and let Louis get a grip, so to speak.

How did I know? Because Lestat told me as much and also because I had eyes in my head. Louis' behavior had passed from unsettling into the outer reaches of bizarre on occasion. Bizarre to mortals, of course. I know that Lestat did not find Louis' appearance to be any more startling now than he did the first time he ever saw him, nor did he think Louis' exaggerated movements or his rapid subject changes in conversation were odd, in fact, he seemed almost unaware of anything out of the ordinary most of the time. He never told me that, but I know it anyway.

In this place, they could relax and not think at all about perception because there was no one nearby to see, except for me. They would rise minutes after sunset with the clouds still streaked with red and gold and walk together in sand that still held the sun's heat. The illusion of human-ness fled quickly as the light did most nights when Louis would lower Lestat to the sand and suckle voraciously from him, his fangs embedded in Lestat's neck or shoulder or wrist and I would watch, straining to see as the tropical darkness fell with characteristic suddenness.

I'd caught glimpses of them in various activities since I first came to live behind the townhouse, but that was what they were, glimpses. With some idea that I was invading their privacy, I would tear myself away, retreating to my little house or going out for a drink someplace. If I was unable or unwilling to move, I suppose that they have forgiven it since I am still alive. Here in this place, though, they seemed to be inviting my voyeurism to the point of looking about to see if I was anywhere nearby, though I was always soon forgotten. Louis' voracious appetite for Lestat did not stop at taking his blood and they made love in their beautifully savage manner on the beach, in the garden, by the pool and, of course, in their bed.

Sometimes they swam in the dark sea, their bodies limned with glowing green light, eerie phosphorescence from plankton agitated by their passage. They would emerge with water streaming down the hard planes of their smooth bodies only to fall together once again while I watched, filled with lust and some unnamed longing.

I didn't spend all my time watching them because that way lies some sort of madness. To distance myself somewhat from my strange existence I took myself to Basil's, considered by the glitterati to be one of the best bars in the world. I personally didn't think so, but it was a good enough place to pass some time. I felt like a fraud among these people, so wealthy that they had no notion of what it might be like to live any other way. It might be argued that I had plenty of money of my own, but that didn't mean I would ever fit in with the sort of people I met on Mustique and it had nothing at all to do with the fact I was the personal assistant to a vampire and everything to do with the fact that I grew up in the Boston projects.

During the blue-gold days I learned to do things. I learned to scuba dive and I learned to sail, both things taught to me by a weathered whip cord of a man of indeterminate age named Mac. Mac was the only person I'd met on the island that seemed like a real person. He lived off the money he made teaching the monied people who visited the island how to do the things he was teaching me to do, but I never noticed any of them passing more than a few words with him in any other capacity. We took a liking to one another and after a while I stopped going to Basil's and took to visiting him at his place on the other side of the small island, drinking beer and listening to his tales of the people he'd met living on the island. He spoke with a Scots burr that he'd learned to make comprehensible to his clients, but as the evenings drew on and he got a load on it came back, thick as honey and musical in a comforting sort of way. Sometimes we fucked and when we did it was good, strong and satisfying in a way I'd not allowed myself to feel before, but most of the time we talked. When he had days to himself we took his boat out and fished or swam in the clear warm water, and he showed me places to dive that none of the rich and famous knew about. Best of all, Mac showed no interest in what I was doing there and who I was with. He was pleased to see me when I showed up, but never asked where I'd been or what I did when I wasn't around.

I did little else when we were there, Lestat and Louis being preoccupied with one another for the most part and business affairs being handled by Lestat's New Orleans accountant or the law firm. I wondered sometimes what my role was and if I ever brought it up to Lestat, he would smile indulgently and say it was whatever he needed me to be.

What Lestat wanted me to be for the most part was the person that make things run smoothly and to handle interactions that he did not choose to handle. A large part of what I did was to anticipate what might be needed or who needed to be handled in whatever manner; bankers, lawyers, brokers, some of whom knew about them and some who didn't.

One evening they came to the door of my cottage, curious as to where I was staying even though we'd been there for nearly a month. Lestat looked around the cottage and pronounced it comfortable and Louis just prowled around restlessly, clearly uninterested. I took a little time to observe him, noting with fascination the smooth, shining whiteness of his skin and the luster of his hair. Lestat has just such qualities, but as a result of his exposure to the sun, his skin looked as though he had acquired a perfect, golden tan and so he looked eminently more 'normal' to mortal eyes.

After a while, Louis wandered out to where Lestat and I stood among the perfectly placed potted plants on the balcony overlooking the beach. He sat down in one of the wicker chairs and regarded me.

"You are enjoying your stay?" He asked.

It would seem to be a normal thing to say, but Louis had not addressed me at all since our arrival on the island.

"Yes." I told him. "It's a beautiful place."

"You have made a conquest? I smell someone on your clothes. Who is it?"

Lestat, moving behind Louis' chair, grinned at me.

"Guy named Mac." I said. "He lives on the other side of the island. He's teaching me to sail. He's not a conquest, really." I shrugged.

"You like him, though." Lestat pointed out.

"Sure." I wanted to elaborate, to say that as beautiful as the surroundings were, I would much prefer to be back in New Orleans where there were all sorts of people. The environs of the uber-rich made me anxious in a way that I could not explain. Lestat and Louis are wealthy beyond imagining but it's different because money is most certainly not what motivates them. I didn't have to say it, as it turns out, because he was able to pick it out clearly from my thoughts.

"One would hardly think that staying here was such a burden." He said lightly.

"It's not." I said. "It's just different, that's all. At least I get Mac."

"Get?" Louis asked.

"Understand." I clarified. "He is what he is and there's no ulterior motivation going on when you're talking to him, no sizing up."

"Why would that bother you? Do you feel inadequate?"

"I just feel weird. It's tiring, the way that some of the people here scrutinize whatever you say or do. The way you look."

Louis nodded. "Social position and money can be tiresome as I recall." He agreed, after which he lapsed into silence as he reached up and back to catch Lestat's hand.

"I wondered where you'd gone off to." Lestat said teasingly. "We missed our audience, did we not Louis?"

Louis smiled, head tilted back to look up at Lestat.

"It was either that or explode, I guess." I mumbled. Lestat chuckled and moved to pull a chair beside Louis' "Can I ask you something? It's sort of changing the subject."

"Naturellement." Lestat said, with a small wave.

"Since we got here, has anyone else, you know, bothered you?"

"Bothered?" He asked, puzzled for a moment. "Ah. You mean sneaking in past my mental shields? No. Or if anyone has tried I haven't noticed. Everything is in place. No one will get by if I don't want them to." He said and there was a steely glint in his eyes. I glanced at Louis and was truly surprised to see his features drawn briefly in sorrow, composed immediately to a careful blankness when he saw me looking at him.

"I just wondered, you know, even though you seem like your old self."

"Whoever that is." He rejoined. "Not to worry, cher, no one will get in if I don't want them to. And now, if that's all I believe I must attend to Louis now." He turned to Louis. "Come, my restless love and we'll walk by the water, yes? The moon will be up soon."

~~~~~

Whatever I'd seen in Louis' expression that night, I saw no sign of it afterward. The time on the island was an idyllic time for them, or it seemed so to me at least. For me, it was yet another exercise in balancing the facets of my life.

It was a lot less complicated than it was at home because I didn't really know anyone on the island except for Mac and the passing acquaintance I had with Martha and Angie, the two ladies who came weekly to clean. I kept them well away from the bedroom and sometimes turned them away altogether, paying them extra for their wasted time. They began bringing me food they prepared, island dishes for me to try and sweets that they baked to show their appreciation.

When I spent time with Mac, it was easy enough to push the night visions to the back of my mind, but he noticed my preoccupation sometimes as the weeks wore on and we got to know each other a little better, commenting more than once that he wondered where I was sometimes. Of course, he couldn't know what it was like.

I came back to the villa late one evening, intending to take a swim in the pool before I went to bed. When I rounded the building and started down the steps that led to the pool area I saw that they'd lighted the torches that were placed around the pool and I hesitated on the narrow stairs. I didn't hear anything and there was the possibility that they had been there and then gone back inside or off to wander the island in the dark, leaving the torches lit.

Yeah. Right. It was a good excuse to go down and take a look, though.

At the far end of the pool from the stairs there was a seating area beneath a canvas awning, projecting from the steep side of the rocky hill. There were wide, padded banquettes beneath, covered with cool cotton in shades of deep blue and purple, mounded with pillows and surrounded by mosquito netting. I'd fallen asleep there several times during the long days.

"Brian. Home again at last, I see." Lestat said, finishing with a throaty chuckle that resonated in my lower belly. He was lying back against the heaped pillows, wearing a pair of loose-fitting deep red pants and a sash of pearly-grey wrapped enticingly around his hips. He wore a patterned shirt, unbuttoned and pushed back. Louis was shirtless, wearing black pants similar to Lestat's. From where I stood I saw him kneeling, back bowed as he leaned over to run his hand across Lestat's bare shoulder. His black hair was tied back carelessly, a striking contrast to his pale flesh.

"I was just checking to see if you were still out here. The torches..."

God, it even sounded lame to me. Lestat only smiled more widely and beckoned me to approach.

"Of course. You are ever the conscientious one." He caught Louis' reverent hand in his and pressed a kiss to the palm. Louis growled softly and stretched himself out to lie beside Lestat. I caught his gaze and after a moment, I lowered my eyes; Louis looked distinctly feral.

"No need to worry. " Lestat said softly, running his hand across Louis' chest. "His hunger is not aimed at you." He reached up with his free hand and dragged a shining fingernail down his throat, opening the flesh and releasing a freshet of crimson blood. Louis twisted his body, moaning, and latched on to the wound Lestat had opened.

Was Louis' hunger really ever for anyone else? I didn't think so. Louis clutched at Lestat, suckling strongly and pushing a leg between Lestat's thighs.

"Sit down, Brian, before you fall." Lestat said hoarsely. His eyes glittered and he shifted his body, pressing up against Louis. I sat down on the far edge of the banquette, trembling as though in the grip of a fever. The air about them was charged with menace and lust. Louis raised his head from Lestat's neck, blood smeared over his lips and in his teeth. His grin was ghastly, but, Christ, It was beautiful, too.

"Go on, Lestat. If it does not immolate him, perhaps it will keep him safe when we return."

Immolate? What the fuck. I watched them warily.

"You worry too much." Lestat said. His voice was a mere whisper; his throat ravaged, open and still seeping blood from where Louis had been feasting. "Come closer, cher. I am somewhat immobile."

Louis watched me, his tongue busily licking at his lips. When I drew closer, he snatched at my wrist, his hand moving so fast I never even saw him move. He pulled me forward and a moan escaped me when he pulled me up and across Lestat's taut thigh. Lestat did not move, he only watched as Louis took my hand and pressed it to his bleeding throat.

"Taste." Louis said, releasing my wrist. And so I did, moving instinctively back even as I stuck my stained fingers into my mouth.

Shivering, trembling heat, snaky, twisting its rapacious way through my veins in a way that I most definitely felt. My skin crawled with heat and unfamiliar sensation. I licked at my hand until there was nothing left to taste, memorizing the jolts of pleasure I felt, the tension that seemed to collect in the long muscles of my thighs. I wanted to move, to run even, but I remained still, darting intent glances at them, each glimpse shuttered, like photographs taken at high speed. Did I make any sound? I don't know. I only knew heat and their eyes upon me.

These small effects lasted for some little while before they faded slowly away, leaving me feeling a thirst that was beyond any I'd felt before. Immolating? Possibly, I thought as I rose shakily. They watched me expectantly.

"I'm thirsty." I said rustily. I went to the small bar area. There was a stock of beer and bottled water in the refrigerator and I took out several of the bottles, drinking them down one after another, pausing only because I needed to breathe. I stopped because I was full, but the thirst stayed with me, maddening and insistent. I went back to them, clutching and unopened bottle in one hand. Louis had predictably lost interest in me and lay with his face buried under the shelf of Lestat's jaw.

"Still thirsty?" Lestat asked in a raw whisper. I nodded. My skin still felt hot and somehow tight. "I remember that. I didn't know if it would happen to you. You had far less than I did the first time I tasted the blood of one of us." He mused. His left hand caressed Louis' back with mesmerizing slowness. "My blood marks you now. It may be enough to keep the others away from you."

I tried to concentrate on what he was saying, tried to make sense of it, but nothing made any sense except the brilliance of his eyes and the sounds Louis was making at his throat.

~~~~~

I woke up in my bed. The room was dark and cool, the shades and curtains drawn and I lay still for a while, collecting my thoughts and trying to remember how I had gotten here. I reached for the lamp on the night table and winced a little when I turned it on. There were several bottles of water sweating beads of condensation and I snatched one of them up, drinking greedily.

One of them must have carried me here because I had no memory of anything beyond Lestat talking about my thirst and something about his blood marking me. Carried me in, closed the shades and left me with bottles of water, and I. Didn't. Remember. I flopped backward on the bed and grimaced at my own smell. The clock informed me that it was 2:14 pm. I made myself get up and cautiously opened the bedroom door. The rest of the small cottage was dim, also shaded from the sun. I wondered about that. It was such a little bit of his blood. Would the sun really affect me? Lestat had said nothing specific about anything like that, but the drawn shades indicated some doubt. I went to draw a bath. I wanted some time to think.

May, 1994

"Of course it didn't happen." Louis said irritably. You were here, you know it was forced upon him in such a manner that he believed it was happening. He has told you so himself." He waved a hand at the thick tome on the desk. "That is a narrative of what he was given to see."

"The others thought it was true? Armand?"

"Armand grasped at what he wanted to believe. Religion played quite a part in his mortal life as well as his immortal one. You know all this. You read it all."

He was clearly annoyed and I didn't really want to add to it, but the contradictions were confusing.

"You and Lestat have both told me that what has been written should be taken with quite a large grain of salt. Things omitted. Things invented." I pointed out in a carefully neutral voice. He turned around and looked at me as though I were a dull-witted child.

"You'll take my word for it, then. Armand believed it." Louis said in a slow drawl that conveyed the depth of his irritation. "It's well for him that he did, for I would have marked the whole incident as something he would undertake. I don't know why Lestat went through with publishing that. Are we done?"

I nodded and he swept past me without another word.

Of course I wasn't done; I always had questions, even if I didn't ask them all the time. When I was invited to ask, I always did. It had happened like that when he'd come into the office, and he'd seen the book. He'd asked me what I thought and I simply asked if any of it had really occurred. As will also sometimes happen, he just as quickly lost patience with my less-than-lightening-fast reasoning.

I'd gleaned a little something, though. He had suspected Armand had some sort of hand in it, at least until Armand had tried to kill himself. Lestat's lapse into that weird stasis after the whole strange mess preyed on his mind. Ironically, his obsession with whoever did have a hand in it had become a source of contention between them, although I was pretty sure that wasn't the only thing that had cropped up between them.

There were arguments. Drawn out silences and sometimes, one or the other of them would disappear for a while. It was one of those things that made you wonder just how superior they were to humans after all. Not to say that mortals ever get the whole love relationship thing right, but then again, we only had the one lifetime in which to work it out. One would hope that a pair who clearly needed to be together would have figured it out over the course of two hundred and some odd years.

It occurred to me that I hadn't asked him where Lestat was. Probably a good thing, considering how snappish Louis had been. I was usually in the office upstairs before they awakened if I had something I needed to discuss, but I'd been delayed in traffic, coming back from a day of endless errands. It was apparent that Lestat was not at home, and so I sat down to deal with mail and email and phone messages.

Except that the little red light wasn't winking at me as it did nearly every nigh, which meant either there weren't any phone messages or Lestat had already retrieved them. I hit the replay button to listen because he didn't always remember to tell me things like the roofers needed to reschedule or I was supposed to speak with one of the lawyers regarding any number of things.
There was nothing like that on the machine, though. There was only one message and it was for Louis.

From Armand.

It was innocuous enough, just Armands' soft and oddly accentless voice stating that he was in New Orleans and would Louis have any free time to speak with him? I sat back in the chair, digesting it. Any number of things can cause Lestat's temper to flare, and I supposed that this message might well fall into that particular realm.

~~~~~

"What did you talk about?" Lestat asked, slipping out of his drenched jacket and shaking his head briskly.

"The book, mostly." I said, gesturing to the stack of them on the floor by the closet.

His brow furrowed slightly. "And that was the last time you saw him?"

I nodded. Louis hadn't been home for several days and Lestat was in a dark mood.

"He thinks I don't know he's holed up in that dreary room next door to Madame Miriam's."

"He probably knows you know." I said. "Not like he's hiding, or anything."

He was referring to the voodoo temple on North Rampart. Louis sometimes spent time speaking with the priestess there. I often wondered what their conversations were like.

He gave me a withering look. "And how would you know any of this?"

I looked away from his angry eyes. "He doesn't hide."

"Why would you say that?"

"Your arguments are hardly secretive." I muttered.

"You have more to say?" His eyes were gray March ice.

"You can tell what I'm thinking and it pisses you off but I can't help it." I said in a low voice. When he wanted answers he would get them on way or another.

"You know a lot, Brian, but you don't know everything. He hides. He hides as much as I do. He's wrapped up...wrapped...ah, merde. Enough of this." He passed a hand over his eyes. "I'm going now to speak to him. We may wish to fly the jet to New York in the next few days if he will consent to come along, just so you know."

Late June, 1994

The sun had set upon our approach to LaGuardia airport and I heard them stirring as I taxied the little jet to the private hangar. I heard the intercom crackle followed by Lestat's voice telling me that they would be ready directly.

The recent storms had passed for the moment and they had been inseparable since Louis had come home again. I was not privy to the reconciliation but when I was with them I sensed some distance between them, passionate love-making aside. And it was passionate, no doubt about it. I heard it. I saw the after effects too, the mattresses destroyed, bed frames broken, plaster cracked, all telling me that their passion was on the violent side of late; their naked, sleeping bodies were bruised and lacerated, slowly healing over the course of the day, the sheets crimson with drying blood.

I didn't see them for a few nights after we arrived, though periodic excursions to the penthouse during the day revealed that their hunger continued to be more for one another than for the more mundane fare of mortal blood. This is not to say that I was sure they hadn't left the penthouse; anything is possible, but it didn't look that way. The clothes they'd arrived in were unwearable and the suitcase had not been touched.

Did I mention that there was, in fact a reason for the trip? Well, there was; an art showing at the Woodward, a new gallery in SoHo. Lestat had taken an interest in the artist, a shy, driven man who painted strange distorted cityscapes in violent, lurid colors. They were unlovely and garish but arresting, even to my untutored eye.

We arrived at the event fashionably late and upon our arrival the requisite flutes of champagne were presented and the owner came to greet Lestat and Louis, recognizing them from other visits, I have no doubt.

"Where's the artist?" I asked when Ms. Woodward politely moved off from her two clearly distracted guests.

"Feverishly painting in his loft, I should think. Take some of the markers, cher, so I can tag the works that I want." Lestat said. Louis had wandered off to examine one of the paintings. Seeing that I had finished mine, Lestat handed me his champagne and I followed him feeling woefully ignorant and out of place. It didn't help that I had a whopper of headache. He didn't notice any discomfort on my part for a while, speaking animatedly about the works we looked at and tagging several of the ones he liked, including the one that had captured Louis' attention.

"You are unwell. You need to eat." He said, when I'd failed to respond to another of his comments. "There's a buffet upstairs. You can find me after you've had your fill, yes?."
I did, and as far as these sorts of affairs went the food was decent, if unspectacular. It went a good way in restoring me.

The second floor was open and airy, with railings along one side that allowed one to look down at the first floor. It looked a bit like a maze from above, filled with motion and color and the loud murmur that you always hear when there is a crowd of people. I spied Lestat's pale hair and leaned against the railing to watch him for a while. He'd attracted a small gaggle of female admirers and seemed to be enjoying the attention. Every now and then I heard his laughter even from where I stood.

I looked for Louis and finally saw him making his way toward Lestat, cleanly fielding any and all attempts at discourse. It was amusing to watch Lestat's flock of admirers become flustered when Lestat drew Louis to his side, following that action with a warm kiss. After a few minutes, they dispersed and the pair moved along together, headed for another section of as yet unviewed paintings. Their meandering, calm appearance made a distinct change a little while later and I followed the direction that they were looking in.

It was Armand. Nothing good could come of this; I knew it as well as I knew my own name and my stomach lurched uneasily. As I watched, Armand approached them and put his arms about Lestat's waist, kissing his cheek familiarly. I could see the stiffness in Lestat's shoulders from where I was and it was echoed in Louis' posture. They exchanged words and Armand left them, moving gracefully toward yet another of the immortals. Daniel, I assumed, from the color of his hair, somewhat darker than Lestat's.

Louis spoke into Lestat's ear and after a moment, Lestat nodded shortly and Louis went to where Armand stood with Daniel.

It was excruciating to watch for I expected some deadly violence to erupt at any moment. I couldn't understand why no one else felt the under current that seemed so obvious to me. I pushed my way to the stairs and went down to see if Lestat wanted to leave.

When I got to the bottom of the stairs, all the parties involved were no longer in the places that I had observed them in from above. My search ended abruptly when Daniel chose to take my elbow and steer me to a corner out of the flow of moving people.

I will take a moment to say that all of the vampires I have come into contact with have been invariably beautiful, each in their own way, and that it has nothing at all to do with what their personalities are like. I imagine this is because when vampire makes another, some part of it has to do with a physical attraction. I can't say this is a certain thing because I have not seen all of them, but it appears to be the rule rather than the exception. Daniel was a case in point, being arrestingly good-looking.

"I know you have this irresistible urge to rush to Lestat's side, but I think maybe you should wait a while." He gave me a brilliant smile. "I'm Daniel, by the way."

I nodded. "Brian." I automatically stuck my hand out and he just as automatically took it in his and gave it a brief shake. "But I guess you already knew that."

"Yeah. I'm really not trying to run interference here, man. He'll find you when he wants to, and it wouldn't be the best idea to go too near Armand and Louis just now."

I looked warily at him and he nodded in a commiserating manner. "I know where you're at, Brian. I do."

"I don't know what you're talking about." I told him.

"Resigning yourself to what you are denied doesn't mean you don't still want it."
I saw no point in debating it with him, and despite his friendly demeanor I had no reason to trust him.

"For what it's worth, I don't see how it's any of your business what I want or don't want. It has nothing to do with whatever the hell is happening right now."

He put his hands up placatingly. "Fair enough. But I should point out that what's happening right now has nothing to do with you. I know you have no reason to trust me, but I'm sayin' stay out of it. It's safer if you do, though I don't suppose your own safety is high on your priorities list.
It's something that goes back a long way."

"And what? You're just here for the art show, I suppose." He had a pretty good handle on how I felt, but that didn't mean I had to acknowledge it.

He shrugged. "I'm not sure why I came, tell you the truth. We're barely on speaking terms as it is." He said, nodding to where Armand had appeared at the far corner of the room. He was still speaking to Louis who had lost whatever initial interest he may have had in what Armand wanted to talk to him about.

Lestat appeared through the crowd and approached us. "Is Marius in New York?" He asked. Daniel nodded.

"He'll be along. He said he had something to take care of first."

I could see Louis beyond Lestat's shoulder. Armand placed a hand on his shoulder and a spasm of anger crossed Louis' features. He brushed Armand's hand away and turned from him.

Lestat nodded curtly. "There's one more painting I wish to tag, so if you will excuse us?" He took my biceps in an iron grip and steered me away from Daniel and toward a group of paintings on one of the long partitions.

"I shall roast Marius when next I see him." Lestat muttered. He fixed a bid onto one of the paintings and then turned to me. "What did Daniel have to say to you?"

There was no use in trying to give an evasive answer. "He warned me not to get too close to Louis and Armand. Or you, for that matter."

"Did he? Whatever for?"

"He told me I should stay out of...whatever was going on. I was only going to see if you wanted to leave."

"I'm damned to the depths of hell if I will let Armand drive me from here or anywhere else until I'm ready to leave." He seethed. If I hadn't been sure of it before, I was now; Lestat was coldly furious. "Did he have any other advice?"

"Nothing important." I mumbled. He looked as though he might pursue the thought, but his head came up and his shoulders relaxed the smallest amount because Louis was walking toward us.

"Have you finished, mon cher?" Lestat asked. Louis merely nodded and Lestat continued, "Daniel said that Marius will be making an appearance. Shall we wait for him, or would you like to leave?"

"If you wish to see Marius, then of course we will stay." Louis said, taking Lestat's hand. "Have you put your bids in?"

"I have, and generous ones at that. I believe I should like to leave; there is every chance that Marius will have those fledglings of his along and I am in no mood."

"I'll go bring the car around." I said, and Lestat nodded absently, leaning to push his nose into Louis' black hair.

~~~~~

And so I brought them back to their penthouse and they went upstairs like lovers and like lovers they were entwined together when I looked in on them the next day, standing motionless and enthralled at the beauty of their limbs closed about one another, perfect flesh, beautiful, silky hair and fingers interlaced.

Several nights later, Louis went off to hunt and Lestat wanted company walking through Central Park. I didn't refuse, of course, and it wasn't because of his teasing that there was nothing so dangerous in the Park as he himself was. It was a pleasant night, cool but not cold and Lestat was in good spirits—at least until he sensed Armand's presence and The Scene ensued.

Armand, dressed like a young mortal in faded jeans, and a sweatshirt, walked up beside Lestat, easily keeping pace with Lestat's longer stride. I moved off to the side somewhat.

"To what do I owe this dubious honor?" Lestat asked, heavy on the sarcasm.

"You left so abruptly the other night, Lestat. We had no chance for conversation, you and I." Armand looked up at Lestat, a sweet expression on his boyish face.

"And what would we have to talk about, Armand? I think we ran out of conversation in Miami, non?"

"That was years ago, caro. So much has happened since then, has it not? We should catch up as old friends do." He pushed his hair back from his face. "And may I say that it does my heart good to see you and Louis together."

There was thick tension between them and such dark malice from Armand that I felt queasy. Armand's sweet face gave nothing away; the malignancy was very much beneath the surface.

"Lestat, I am astonished, for I admit I did not think it in you to keep Louis so—content. He was so distraught when he thought you were gone from him, those many years ago in Paris." He sighed theatrically. "And he did so pine for you. For years he did. We became very close, Louis and I."

Lestat snorted disbelievingly.

"Close? You followed him around like a puppy. If that's what you call close."

"If you had been there, Lestat, I will admit that Louis would not have given me much thought at all. But you weren't there, were you?" He licked his lips. His skin was tawny, much like Lestat's, remnants of his own foray into the light of the terrible sun. "After years of mourning you, he turned finally to me. He is your fledgling, caro mio, but he was my lover, finally, when you were no longer there for him."

I glanced nervously at Lestat; his fury was palpable. I wanted to shout at him, scream that the words coming from Armand's angelic mouth were evil lies, but I was dumbstruck, something I wondered at later on.

"And because he is your fledgling," Armand continued in his soft voice, "You cannot see his thoughts, can you? You cannot know of the intimacies we shared." His tongue flicked at a silvery line of saliva at the corner of his mouth. "But you are together now, and I am happy for you both. You have each other in a way Louis and I did not." His voice had a distant musing quality as he went on. "When I think of his skin, Dios mio, I could weep. Lestat, you did such a magnificent job in bringing him to us. Such a beauty. Such a beautiful soul. The silky cream of his skin, the tautness of him. He was never of the mortal world. No, never." He looked sidewise at Lestat, his eyes large and soft as he spoke Louis' name. "And the flush that comes to Louis' skin when....ahh, well. You know of what I speak, do you not? Marius has painted cherubim that were of no comparison to him, of that I am sure." He gazed, misty-eyed, into the near distance. "And the sounds he made, oh, yes...heartbreaking, I must say. That's what he was. Heartbreaking. And you,not there. I tried to do well by him, to satisfy him. Repeatedly I tried. He was so exquisite, so very exquisite when I entered him." He sighed longingly.

"Satisfy him? You tried to satisfy him? Yes, well I am sure you tried many things, little Amadeo" Lestat sneered "But what happened? Not much I'll wager."

"Yes, I did." Armand said, complacently, "Over and over again. Louis has demonic stamina in bed. It must be in the blood, no? "

Incredibly, he was looking Lestat up and down, slowly licking his lips.

"I may not have been there, Amadeo...and we know why I was not, the two of us, eh? No, I may not have been there but I know Louis. I know what makes his mouth water." Lestat said, fingering his throat. "Is it you? You, a pale shadow of your own maker, unable to keep him interested for more than a few decades? Please. Marius left you and he never looked back. Did you ever wonder why this should be so?"

"Longer than your maker." Armand shot back in a brief flash of anger. "But, I digress..."

"Nothing to signify." Lestat interrupted. "I had no previous relationship with Magnus. Whereas you..."

Armand broke in, smoothly turning the subject back.

"I must say I was quite happily surprised at those sounds Louis made, the hissing... the moaning. All quite delicious! And the wondrous sound he made when I penetrated him; there are no words."

"Reading my thoughts again? You have no words because it did not happen." Lestat snapped.

Once again, I wanted to shout that Armand was lying but I had no voice, only the helpless feeling of watching Lestat fall into his web.

"Ah. But it did happen." Armand murmured insinuatingly to Lestat. "It eats at you that it did. Corrosive, like acid, isn't it? That someone should possess Louis other than yourself. I know had you been there I would not have had this, but you weren't. This hurts you, does it not? As it would me, were he my fledgling."

Armand's voice was mild and hateful and I wanted more than anything to make him just disappear. I hated seeing him get to Lestat and to do it so easily, preying upon Lestat's biggest weakness. And because I loved Lestat I did not want to see him like this, arguing with Armand about Louis as though Louis were a prize to be won. Armand knew it, too. He gave me a quick, malevolent smirk and in that moment I hated him, wished him burned to a cinder in the sun.

"No. I was not there and we both know why, do we not? Care to tell me why he left?"

"He knew you to be alive. He said so often. How it hurt him that you would not look for him, come to him."

"You have ever been a liar. Do you think that I believe you now?"

"No, ours was not a long union. Short and sweet I should say." He said reminiscently, as if he heard nothing that Lestat said. "Very sweet." He turned to focus on Lestat. "But, truly, I am happy for both of you, together again. And Louis is none the worse for wear. Not much, anyway."

He reached his hand to Lestat's face, touching his cheek.

"Louis is angered for fear of your reaction should you find out. He thinks on telling you as we speak."

He smiled an enigmatic Mona Lisa smile, malevolently peaceful and wound his arms about Lestat's neck, pressing his slight body tight to Lestat's taller form.

"Is that supposed to impress me?" Lestat snapped, stepping back. "Happy. Oh yes. Happy for us, as you are with your fledgling, the one that you dangled on the end of your cock for...what? Ten years? You may have been able to dazzle that poor drunken mortal, but your lies and you tricks could not hold Louis to you, could they? And fear? Louis fears nothing, least of all me."

"Dazzle Daniel? I did no such thing. And what of your fledgling? Louis fears for you, Lestat. You know he does. And impress you? No. I've seen better. Much better. But now you know where it's been."

Another angelic smile, as he turned away. "Farewell, Lestat. Tell Louis that I think of him often. And thank you for being so generous..."

"Your delusions have ever been a source of amusement to me, Monsieur Le Coven Master." Lestat growled, turning from Armand at last and moving back along the path at such a rate that I was hard pressed to keep up with him.

When he slowed down I stepped up beside him. Ready to try and reason him out of the anger I still felt pulsing around him. Before I could say anything, though, he spoke.

"It would be better, Brian, if you didn't say anything just now. I know that your intentions are good ones, but I am past all patience. Now, what?"

I looked questioningly at him and that was when I realized there was someone ahead of us on the path. Two men, it turned out, each of them holding guns on us. Lestat shoved me hard and I fell to the ground in a confusion of swearing and shouting from the attackers, followed by a gunshot. I rolled and looked up to see Lestat snap an arm back, catching one of the men across the chest and hurling him back with amazing force. He didn't stir after he'd hit the ground.

"You chose the wrong night to fuck with me, mortal." Lestat growled. The attacker had forgotten his gun altogether, holding it loosely in his hand even as Lestat grabbed him and snaked his head forward. The man cried out sharply and Lestat forced him to the ground, teeth sunk deeply into the side of the man's neck. The gun clattered harmlessly from his weakly spasming hand.

I knelt, heart pounding and watched Lestat drain the life from the man. When he'd finished he dropped the body and sank back on his haunches, uttering a snarling, throaty laugh. There was a light somewhere behind me and in the lurid orange glow, the blood on his mouth looked black.

He got to his feet, staggering a little as he licked his lips. He extended his hand and after a moment of staring at it dumbstruck. I took it and he hauled me up.

"Now you have seen." He said, his voice thick.

He spoke no more, pressing me to hurry back to the penthouse and leaving me at the entrance to the building. I did not see him again that night or the night after.